


Moulin Rouge et Noir

by wannnabesuper



Category: Miraculous Ladybug, Moulin Rouge! (2001)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Moulin Rouge! Fusion, F/M, Identity Porn, Secret Identity, Sorry Not Sorry, adrien is satine and marinette is cristian, and not treated well by the fic, chloe is the duke, fashion - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-04-14 10:23:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14134110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wannnabesuper/pseuds/wannnabesuper
Summary: Marinette is an aspiring designer who has lucked her way into doing a show at the Moulin Rouge.Adrien is the star model, ordered to woo the Duchess Bourgeois to ensure her father keeps funding the fashion club.Ladybug is the stunning lead actress with all the confidence Marinette lacks.Chat Noir is the nosy chimney sweep who befriends everyone with the freedom Adrien craves.Fashion, intrigue, secret identities, baked goods, sass, and romance!





	Moulin Rouge et Noir

**Author's Note:**

> I started this story in February 2016 (it is now March 2018 for those playing along at home) as a birthday gift for my sister. 25 months late, here it is! But if the style seems strange throughout, it's because I took a probably 20 month break and then rushed the ending a bit.  
> Also I’ve only seen the first season of Miraculous Ladybug and that was around the time I started this story, so characters/characterization is based on that and I’m sorry if you don’t like it (not sorry enough to change anything).  
> This whole thing was inspired by a now-lost tumblr post about a Moulin Rouge AU, though the post had Marinette as Satine and Adrien as Cristian, and via conversation with my sister I decided this way fit the plot better. If you have any idea what that post was, feel free to link it to me so I can properly credit the author.

Marinette was worried about a growing list of things. There were the normal things, like being able to afford the nice fabric she wanted for her projects; her friends getting frustrated that she always had to leave early so she could wake up in time to help at her parents’ bakery; going someplace with flour on her clothes or in her hair and not noticing; and, lately, the looming fear of her rapidly approaching spinsterhood. Tonight, there were more specific worries, like the fact that her dearest friends, beautiful but sometimes careless Alya and energetic fun-over-consequences Nino, were wearing clothes she had made -spent a lot of money making - and might damage them, or worse, get critiqued; the fact that she was out past her bedtime with no plans to sleep anytime soon; and the fact that she and her two best friends (due to a lack of funds, Alya's love of scheming, Nino’s inability to not follow through on Alya's schemes, and Marinette’s own love of couture) were currently trespassing on the grounds of the most prestigious - and infamous - nightclub in all of France.

The Moulin Rouge had first captured Marinette's attention when she was a child sneaking to the fabric booths at the market while her parents haggled over the price of ingredients. She had been eyeing a bolt of shimmering red fabric, too afraid to dirty it by touching, when the most well-dressed man she had ever seen strolled up to the booth. His suit was deep purple with white and silver accents, so bold Marinette couldn't believe someone would wear it on the street. She watched in awe as he looked over the fabrics, finally choosing several and demanding; “send these to the Moulin Rouge.”

Marinette had known then that the Moulin Rouge was the source of the most beautiful clothing in Paris. Unfortunately, it was also the source of enough unsavory rumors for her parents to forbid her from even walking past it on the street. That didn't stop Mari from secretly hoarding every picture she could find of the elaborate, imaginative clothing worn by the inhabitants of the club. She came to learn that the man from the market was Gabriel Agreste, designer of these amazing outfits, and it soon became her ultimate goal to work for him someday.

Between working at the bakery, helping local mothers mind their children, and the occasional dinner with Alya and Nino, Marinette barely had time for her designs, but she never passed up an opportunity to sew. It had been after an all-night sewing marathon to tailor all of Alya's clothes before she went on a six week work trip to England that Marinette had confided her dream of someday working at the Moulin Rouge. Alya hadn't said anything at the time, but here they were almost a year and a half later, dressed head-to-toe in Marinette originals and waiting for the show to start.

Mari had no idea how her friends had gotten them such excellent seats - Nino had replied to all queries with a vague “I know a guy” - but even all her worries couldn't completely dampen her growing excitement. She, Alya, and Nino had been spending their free time putting together a show for almost the entire duration of their friendship, and part of Alya's scheme involved them somehow getting ahold of the production manager of the Moulin Rouge and pitching their show to her. Alya had written the plot while Nino handled the music, but everything visual was from Marinette. Her room was full of sketched backdrops, miniature sets, and, above all, costumes. If Nathalie Sancoeur liked what they had to show her, Marinette just knew all of her dreams would come true. Or she would die of happiness. Possibly both.

Suddenly, the music swelled, and Marinette abruptly forgot everything except the man who was rising from a trap door beneath the stage. He stood perfectly still on a rotating pillar that raised him up to eye-level with the seats Nino had somehow commandeered, and the slow spin of the pedestal gave the audience an excellent view of his whole form. Marinette had never seen anything so beautiful.

His blond hair was slicked into immobility under a rakishly-set hat in a poisonous green that did wonders for his eyes. The rest of his face was achingly perfect, unbelievably close to the Renaissance-style painted ads that Marinette had always thought were intentionally embellishing the attractiveness of the models. She almost didn't have eyes for his clothes, until he began to move.

The pillar had stopped rotating, leaving the performer facing Marinette and her friends. She could have sworn he locked eyes with her for a split second, and when he winked, she knew it was for her. Then he moved, and his costume came to life.

Gabriel Agreste was famous for his “magical” clothing, which looked ordinary until the wearer did something specific that revealed hidden layers of color and glamour. This particular costume, which had appeared to be a relatively modest black tuxedo, was suddenly a riot of green which seemed to dance around the model. He was perfectly calm in the eye of the fabric storm, and Marinette couldn't decide which she wanted to study more - his fantastic costume, or his inscrutable face.

“That's Adrien,” Nino whispered, a smirk at her rapture evident in his voice. “He's Gabriel's most promising talent - doesn't even get put on the ads, but everyone who knows anyone who's been to the Moulin Rouge knows that Adrien is the one everyone comes to see.”

“I think Mari just fell in love,” Alya teased. “Girl, I can't tell if you want to sew clothes for that boy or take all of his off.” Marinette blushed immediately, but couldn't even think of a response until the perfect model - Adrien! - had disappeared behind a curtain of opulently dressed dancers.

“I don't know what you mean,” she sputtered, trying to surreptitiously fan herself. Feeling her face grow even redder under the matching grins of her best friends, Marinette stood abruptly, stammering something about getting air, but was cut off as she accidentally knocked into someone behind her.

The small redhead tripped forward, and time seemed to slow down as the drinks the woman had been carrying arced through the air to splash on a haughty-looking blonde at the next table. The blonde’s outraged shriek was, fortunately, mostly covered by a dramatic upswing from the band, but her following tirade was perfectly audible.

“You clumsy fool! This dress is worth more than your life, how dare you spill champagne on it!” Marinette wasn't sure who was being yelled at, but the redhead immediately knelt to dab at the blonde’s clothes, apologizing profusely.

“I'm so sorry, Chloe, I'm so clumsy and stupid and I'll fix your dress, see, I can get this stain out,” she continued rambling as the blonde’s outraged quieted.

“I suppose you thought I might give you this dress if you stained it, did you? Well, just for that I'm going to throw it away for the peasants, you sneak.”

Marinette’s flush had completely transformed from embarrassment to anger. She pulled the redhead away from Chloe's dress (probably a bit harder than she intended, since the smaller woman ended up falling against Marinette's legs), and shot the blonde a glare before helping the redhead to her feet.

“Listen, you arrogant, rude, overdressed peacock! It was an accident and you have no right to be so cruel!” Turning to the redhead, Mari started to ask if she was okay but was surprised to see her edging back toward the blonde.

“Let's go get you cleaned up, Chloe,” the redhead coaxed. “I'm sure Adrien will do a private show for you later, to make up for missing the rest of this one.” Allowing herself to be led away, Chloe managed one parting shot over her shoulder at the dumbfounded Marinette.

“You're just angry because the garbage you made your clothes out of aren't half as high-quality rags as this dress will be.”

“Why that- Garbage?” Marinette turned to her friends indignantly. “Garbage?”

“She's just mad, Mari.” Alya soothed. “Look, Adrien is coming back on!”

And Marinette was once again hopelessly distracted as the hypnotizing model emerged from the cocoon of other performers, having changed into a new, flashier costume. Even more distracting than his clothes was the way he was smiling, like he was the answer to everyone's deepest desires and he knew it. Even more distracting than the way he was smiling was the fact that he was smiling _directly at Marinette._

* * *

 

At this point in his life, Adrien was completely immune to any distraction an audience could provide. Deaf to their cheers, he lost himself in the movements of the performance, knowing this was possibly his last show before everything changed. His father had told him only yesterday that he was to meet the Duchess Bourgeoise after his show tonight, knowing how much influence she had over her wealthy and powerful father. Gabriel was sure that Chloe would fall in love with Adrien, putting him in an excellent position to advance the interests of the Moulin Rouge. Adrien had forced himself not to think about the way he had always hoped to fall in love someday, and agreed to his father’s plan.

The other dancers were surrounding Adrien, meaning it was time for his mid-show costume change. Gabriel took advantage of the chance to check on Adrien, appearing in the middle of the costume change to reinforce the importance of Adrien’s after-show meeting.

“I understand, father,” Adrien mumbled, muffled by the fabric an assistant was shoving over his head. “You said the duchess is in the audience. Which one is she?”

Gabriel peered through a gap in the shifting dancers around them.

“She’s standing, in the private table section, talking to another woman. There’s a redhead at her feet.”

Curious but unable to afford the distraction of wondering why the duchess had someone kneeling at her feet, Adrien took a peek at his intended conquest. There were two women standing by the private tables, one in an almost garish yellow dress, the other in grey and pink. The redhead was kneeling at the feet of the second woman, who appeared to be holding onto her arm. Maybe she had fallen and the duchess was helping her up? That’s certainly what it looked like, even if it didn’t fit with the sorts of stories Adrien had heard about the duchess’s temperament. He didn’t have time to speculate, however, as his costume change was complete and his next cue was fast approaching.

“And Adrien?” Gabriel paused on his way off the stage. Adrien looked at his father immediately, unable to quiet the tiny hope that maybe this time, Gabriel would wish him luck.

“Yes, father?”

“Smile more. At least try to look like you’re enjoying yourself, or the audience will have less fun.”

Right, of course. The audience. Adrien pasted on his practiced flirtatious smile and launched back into his performance. A voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like his father’s calculating production manager told him it was never too early to start warming up a potential client, so he focused the proven effects of his smile on the duchess. Her cheeks turned as pink as the accents on her dress. Well, maybe Adrien could have some fun with this after all.

* * *

 

Marinette thought she was going to combust when Adrien started dancing with her. She still hadn’t completely calmed down almost an hour later, waiting for him in a frankly ostentatious chamber that may or may not look like a pachyderm from the outside. She wasn’t really focusing when one of the dancers had led her there, saying Adrien wanted to talk to her in private. Nino had said it must be about the show, and Alya had practically shoved her at the dancer, hissing that Marinette had better use this apparent favoritism to boost their chances of getting their show picked up. She was still wondering why the beautiful performer had singled her out when the man himself entered the room, done up in yet another elaborate outfit.

“It’s always a pleasure to meet a beautiful woman,” he said casually, “but it is rare to find one as beautiful as you.” His voice was deep, even deeper than she had expected, and she had to very sternly tell her knees that they were under no circumstance allowed to wobble. The blond advanced gracefully, until he was close enough for Marinette to feel the heat coming off him. She stood, frozen, as he leaned in to whisper in her ear: “I’ll have to find some way to thank you for bringing me so much pleasure.”

Marinette squeaked, and Adrien’s eyes crinkled at the corners like he was going to laugh, though his smooth smile stayed in place. Figuring her face was approximately the color of a well-done lobster, Marinette forced herself to look out the window instead of getting lost in those green eyes. Somehow, her standing at the balcony ledge was apparently an invitation for him to sidle up behind her and brace his arms on the railing on either side of hers. He still wasn’t touching her, but Marinette couldn’t help being aware of his presence. She spun around, intent on at least telling him not to get in her space like that, but was once again tongue-tied by that beautiful face so close to her own.

“I heard you were hoping for a show,” he murmured, and Mari finally got her act at least partway together.

“Yes!” Her voice was still coming out squeaky, but at least she was forming words. “We have an excellent friends by a show for- I mean, you show my friends- No, there’s a great show my friends wrote, and we want you to be in it!”

Adrien blinked, and his eyes did that little crinkle that she really thought indicated suppressed laughter again.

“You want me to do a show for your friends, Duchess?” He asked. “I was under the impression you’d prefer something more private.”

“No, we want to reach as big an audience as possible?” Marinette’s confusion was cutting down her embarrassment, but she still felt far from in control of the situation. Adrien pulled back a little, and his voice sounded almost resigned as he responded.

“I’m sure I can do whatever you wish, Duchess.”

“I’m hardly the one who needs sweet-talked here,” Marinette said absently, forcing herself to look at Adrien as a potential clothing model instead of a distractingly handsome and flirtatious man. Taking a deep breath, she reminded herself why she was there, pulling her omnipresent sketchbook from the pocket she sewed into all of her clothes specifically for it. “I have some designs that I think might interest you.”

“Designs?” Now the blond just sounded confused. “I’m not sure I follow- oh! You drew these?” He interrupted himself as she opened the sketchbook, his hands coming to hover over the page in a seemingly involuntary motion. “May I?”

“Please,” she managed, passing over the sketchbook. “I have other variations, but these are the costumes we like best for the show. For the male lead, we went with a lot of blues and blacks, depending on the costume…” Just like that, Marinette was off and running. It took her very little provocation to talk about fashion at great length, and Adrien was an incredibly receptive audience. His knowledge of fabric and technique also made him a more interactive audience than Mari was used to (her typical audience being generally more interested in croissants and brioche), and as they spoke he grew increasingly animated until both of them were smiling freely.

“Your grace, I can’t tell you how pleased I am to find out you’re so skilled,” he told her, sighing contentedly in a way that was somehow much more human than his earlier actions. “I must admit I was nervous about our upcoming partnership, but to know that I’ll be paired with someone so talented as well as beautiful...Duchess, I may have fallen a bit in love with you.”

“Duchess?” Mari was practically giddy with the idea that this model, familiar with the apex of Parisian fashion, liked her designs. “Why do you keep calling me that? I’m just a baker’s daughter.”

“A baker’s daughter?” Adrien laughed, but there was an edge to it which suggested a weakening grip on equanimity. “No, you’re the Duchess Bourgeois, meeting with me to help strengthen ties between the Moulin Rouge and the aristocracy.”

“No,” Marinette said slowly, starting to get irritated at his presumption. “I’m Marinette Dupain-Cheng, meeting with you to show off designs for a show my friends and I are pitching to the Moulin Rouge.”

Adrien’s face paled, and Marinette realized the door was opening. The only reason he didn’t manage to shove her out of sight was because she had already leapt for the safety of a nearby sofa. It obligingly hid her from sight, but she couldn’t escape hearing Duchess Chloe Bourgeoise sweep in with the air of a woman used to automatically being the center of everyone’s attention.

“Adrien, darling,” she cooed, and Marinette had an unsettling premonition that she was going to roll her eyes so hard they might get stuck backwards if she listened to the duchess speak too much.

“My dear Duchess,” Adrien replied smoothly. Until it reverted to the flirtatious tone he had taken, Mari hadn’t realized how unaffected Adrien’s voice had gotten during their conversation. Apparently, he was back in performance mode. Marinette heard the sound of a hand being kissed and a noise which was presumably an attempt at a ladylike sigh. The attempt failed, and Marinette’s eyes rolled again.

“Oh, but what are you holding?” the duchess asked, and Marinette stifled a gasp. Her sketchbook!

“Some costume designs. I, um, I found them in here while I was setting up the room!”

This boy was quite possibly the worst liar Marinette had ever heard, and one of her best friends had once claimed that his alter ego was the one eating all the pain au chocolat.

“So you don’t know where they came from? Are they any good?” Something calculating simmered under the duchess’s faux innocence.

“They’re amazing.” The blatant admiration in Adrien’s voice made Marinette’s cheeks go  red, but the heat turned to anger as soon as the duchess next spoke.

“I’m glad you like them. I had an assistant leave them here for your perusal, because I didn’t want your opinion to be swayed by my presence.”

“Is that so?” Adrien asked, flirtatious tone in full effect. “How cunning, Duchess. I can’t wait to bring your designs to the show’s producers.”

“Producers?”

“You simply must have designed these for the new show we’re doing, I don’t know how you heard about it but these costumes are perfect. I’m overcome with a need to share your brilliance. We will meet again once more details have been covered, yes? Yes. Lovely to have met you, your grace.” It sounded like Adrien was shuffling the duchess out the door, so when Marinette heard him close it with a sigh, she risked a peek over the top of the sofa. The model was propped against the door, still pale.

“Really, you’re just going to let her take credit for my designs like that?” Marinette snapped, unimpressed. After seeing how well he put on the flirtatious mask with Chloe, she was trying not to be disappointed at how fake his interaction with her must have been.

“I was trying to cover for you,” Adrien hissed, leaning on the door like it was the only thing keeping him on his feet. “Which was only necessary because you SNUCK in here.”

“I did not SNEAK! I was invited! Nino must have set it up, but I did not SNEAK.”

“Wait, Nino? You’re with Nino?”

“Yes, we’re here to pitch a show. Wait, YOU’RE the person Nino knows?” And there was another thing to worry about, because Marinette was going to strangle one of her best friends and had absolutely no idea where to hide the body. He must have orchestrated this meeting for reasons known only to himself, and now Marinette was stuck with a design-stealing aristocrat and a rather rude model who appeared to be hyperventilating. “Whoa, hey, are you alright?”

“Fine, ‘m fine,” Adrien gasped, a sheen of sweat breaking out across his pasty forehead. To prove his point, he pushed away from the door and promptly collapsed.

“Fine, he says,” Marinette grumbled a bit hysterically. “Probably forgot to eat or something stupid, the stupid model, why would you be- so- irresponsible-” Despite his lithe frame, dragging the said stupid model from his ungainly slumped pose on the floor was no easy task. Fortunately, Marinette was used to hauling sacks of flour at the bakery, so she managed to heave Adrien onto a nearby fainting couch, giggling even more hysterically at the appropriately named piece of furniture. Unfortunately, Adrien had more limbs than the average bag of flour, and one of his legs had pinned down Marinette’s skirt, leaving her in a somewhat awkward position as he drifted back into consciousness. Before either of them had a chance to do more than stare at the other, the door opened again and Chloe swept in like a cloud of mustard gas. Adrien stared between the two women, and for a second his face showed rather more panic than a gentlemen could reasonably display in front of clients.

“What’s she doing here?” Chloe demanded, glaring at Marinette. Mari glared right back, on principle.

“We were having a business meeting,” she snapped.

“A business meeting? At this hour? On a fainting couch? Inside an elephant?” Chloe’s pitch kept rising, and Marinette was pretty sure that soon only dogs would be able to hear her.

“Duchess Bourgeois,” Adrien interrupted, turning the full wattage of his charm onto Chloe, who was instantly affected.

“Adrien,” she simpered in return. “I’m sure you didn’t do anything wrong. I’ll call the guards to have this stupid girl removed.” But before she could open the door, Adrien protested.

“There’s no need for that. We really were just having a meeting.”

“We wanted to discuss the new show!” Alya explained, a little breathlessly. Adrien retained his composure remarkably well, but Marinette nearly jumped out of her skin at Alya’s sudden appearance. Nino materialized a second later, and Mari realized that her friends must have been hiding in a shadowy alcove off the balcony. In their defense, they had put a lot of work into this show. In their offense, they could’ve helped her try to move Adrien when he collapsed.

“Adrien already said how much he loves it,” Nino said. “We have so much to do, though, we thought we would just grab a quick meeting to discuss some last-minute ideas Adrien had.”

“Well, if they’re Adrien’s ideas..” Chloe’s suspicion was obviously powerless in the face of Adrien’s winsome smile.

“It was seeing your costumes which inspired me,” he told her, and Marinette knew the power of the look he was directing at Chloe full force now that he had managed to stand back up. It was no wonder the blonde simpered at him, but Mari’s teeth ground so loud at the reminder of the plagiarism that Nino looked worriedly at the ceiling as though it might collapse.

“I’d be delighted to have my art be a part of your show,” she told him, then lit up as she had what she clearly thought was a brilliant idea. “I could be _in_ the show! I’m sure daddy will pay for everything.”

Before anyone else had a chance to react, the door opened once again, this time revealing the severely dressed Nathalie Sancoeur. Eyes flickering over the trio who weren’t technically supposed to be in the room, she demanded an explanation.

“We were having a quick meeting about Nino and Alya’s show,” Adrien said calmly, possibly the only one not momentarily cowed by Nathalie’s presence. “Duchess Chloe is very much in favor of the whole thing.”

“She mentioned participating, and bringing her father’s financial support,” Nino chimed in, and Marinette could practically see the dollar signs behind Nathalie’s eyes.

“We’ll have to do a little bit of reworking to make sure Chloe has a part,” Alya hedged, “but I’m sure she can be accommodated if necessary.”

“How much of the casting is already done?” Nathalie asked, producing a clipboard and a pen possibly from the aether. “What do you require from the Moulin Rouge?”

“We have the male and female leads,” Nino answered, draping one arm over Marinette’s shoulder and the other over Adrien’s. He couldn’t _possibly_ mean what Mari thought he was implying. Sure, she had appeased Alya by acting out the role of the leading Lady, but that had been in their tiny apartment, not _on the stage at the Moulin Rouge_. And across from Adrien? She’d probably combust. Ignorant of her inner turmoil, Nino continued. “We also have designs for costumes and sets, though Marinette will retain full control over the artistic team. The Moulin Rouge will provide a venue, obviously, as well as a number of background performers. If the duchess can deliver a budget, I think we’ll have a nice little arrangement.” Nathalie looked sharply at Nino for a moment, then nodded.

“I believe we have a deal.”

Alya hustled her two friends out of the room, calling over her shoulder that they would meet Adrien for more input over lunch the next day. They made it all the way back to the little apartment they all three shared before the reality of the situation hit them.

“We’re doing a show at the Moulin Rouge,” Marinette breathed.

“We’re doing a show at the Moulin Rouge!” Nino agreed.

“This calls for a celebration,” Alya said, unearthing a bottle of green liquor. Marinette knew she would hate herself in the morning, but the whole evening had been so unbelievable, she couldn’t help staying at least a little bit longer.

* * *

 

Adrien knew he couldn’t afford to lose composure in front of Chloe, but he was hanging by a thread when Nino and his friends finally left. His friendship with the eccentric musician was one of the only things in his life untouched by his father’s influence, making the chaos Nino was capable of causing worth any trouble, in Adrien’s mind. Still, Adrien had no idea how he had managed to get so mixed up as to think Nino’s friend - the designer, he thinks, scrambling to recall Nino’s enthusiastic story pitch when the boy had begged for tickets to a show - could possibly be the Duchess Bourgeois. It seemed like any crisis had been averted, at least for now, but Chloe was still demanding attention and Adrien just wanted a moment alone with his thoughts.

The designer had been charming, in an unpolished way Adrien appreciated after a lifetime of intentional glamour. Her passion for her designs was clear, and her skill evident in her own dress. He felt bad for allowing Chloe to take credit for the drawings - and really, how long did she think she could get away with this? - but not as bad as he felt about mistaking the quiet girl for the garish duchess. Nino had some explaining to do the next time the boys managed to get together, and Adrien had a feeling he had some apologizing to do as well, based on the generalized glare Marinette had left in the room on her way out. At least he would get to see the young woman again.

Drawing himself back to the present, Adrien was relieved to note his now-reflexive manners had kept Chloe swooning. She hadn’t been hard to win over, and Adrien wondered cynically how long it would be before Gabriel was pushing him to marry the duchess to further advance the Moulin Rouge. At least he hadn’t gotten too attached to the flustered but energetic baker’s daughter when he had mistaken her for aristocracy. Or so he tried to convince himself.

Chloe stayed for nearly an hour, by the end of which Adrien could not tell if he was nauseated from natural causes or inhaling too much of her over-applied perfume. He managed to shakily see her to the door with a bow that would’ve turned Gabriel’s silver hair even grayer with shame, unable to dodge a kiss on his cheek. At least she only went for the cheek, he figured, sighing his way onto the closest divan. With no one around to witness his dramatics, Adrien allowed himself to slump onto the welcoming sofa like a stringless puppet, planning to rest for just a moment before returning to his rooms.

Plagg found him on that same divan several hours later, waking him by tipping the entire sofa onto its side. Plagg was one of the odder characters around the Moulin Rouge, indeterminately foreign from a country no one could get him to claim, having arrived several years before with nothing but the clothes on his back and an overwhelming fondness for pungent cheeses and purposeful mischief. Still, Adrien rarely resented Plagg’s antics, as they were responsible for some of the best things in Adrien’s life - namely, his small measure of personal freedom and his friendship with Nino.

“Rise and shine, sleepyhead,” Plagg chirped, perching on the overturned sofa and grinning down at the unseated Adrien.

“One of these days you’re going to break something,” Adrien groused, disinterring himself from the frankly ostentatious number of pillows the divan had formerly held.

“Only the rules,” was Plagg’s breezy reply. He twirled a black hat around one finger, holding it just out of Adrien’s reach. “I want tomorrow off.”

Adrien thought for a moment, then nodded.

“Completely doable. Can I go right now?”

“I knew I could count on you. It’s all set up, just waiting for you to head out. And I know you’re good at quick costume changes.” Plagg tossed the hat to Adrien with a wink and disappeared, off to work whatever magic he used to make Adrien’s absence unnoticeable. This had been their agreement since Adrien was in his mid-teens; Plagg provided a disguise and a distraction in return for whatever favor he wanted at the time (typically it had to do with obtaining increasingly fancy dairy products), and Adrien got to escape the Moulin Rouge and his constant spotlight. The disguise was simple, black-on-black with a soft hat to hide his hair and a smear of coal-dust on his face and hands, but nobody looked twice at a chimney sweep.

The city was as beautiful as a metropolitan center can be in late winter - that is, swamped by slush and filled with angry bundles of coats walking quickly towards a place they hoped would be warmer than the one they just left. Adrien loved it. He couldn’t stop grinning, and that more than anything was what kept him from being recognized. The rakish smile that took over his face whenever he got out from under his father’s thumb differed from his numerous practiced expressions in the way a wolf differed from a chihuahua - as did the people those smiles attracted.

He had spent years wandering through the seedier neighborhoods around the Moulin Rouge, building a reputation that started as an accident but slowly turned into one of his most prized possessions. They called him Chat Noir, the helpful scamp who had grown into a heartbreaking rogue - or so they assumed. Adrien loved being Chat, loved the freedom to be as outrageous as possible in all interactions, loved knowing which market stalls he could visit and move heavy objects in exchange for fresh pastries, loved being greeted like a comrade instead of a delicate jewel from Gabriel’s collection, loved the genuine smiles he got from the people who knew he could be counted on to watch their stall or walk their daughter home, loved _not being Adrien_.

Recently he’d taken to wandering in different districts, but today impulse brought him back to his original haunts. It had been nearly a year since he’d managed to see some of his friends here, and he found himself missing them more than he’d expected.

“Hey, Chat, long time no see! I take it you heard about her?” Kim called out from his regular post. Kim was the (second) fastest messenger in the city and could work anywhere, but he typically waited for clients in the less reputable parts of town. He had once explained to Chat that this was where the real money was to be made; the rich would pay handsomely to send a respectable-looking messenger to their homes with claims that they had been ‘held up at the office.’

“Heard about who?” Chat asked. He drifted toward Kim, only to be intercepted by the (actual) fastest messenger in the city, Alix.

“If you knew, you wouldn’t have to ask,” Alix answered, propping herself against Kim like he was another street fixture. For their comparative sizes, he may as well be. “Clearly you’ve been away too long.”

“Aww, I’ve missed you too,” Chat teased. “Tell me, though, who is this mysterious lady?”

“We don’t know her name, she just goes by ‘Ladybug.’” Kim told him, peering through the crowd. “No one knows who she is, but she walks like she owns the streets.”

“I’m fine with her owning MY streets,” Alix muttered, and Kim nudged her in a congratulatory sort of way. Or attempted to dislodge her, in which case he was unsuccessful.

“What’s so special about her?” Chat asked, joining Kim in scanning the market for anyone who might stand out.

“She dresses like a queen, but a couple thugs went after her and she took them down.” Alix’s tone was reverent in a way that few things merited. “The real crazy thing is, once she took out those thugs, they bought her dinner as an apology!”

“Nathanael even took a break from drawing his baker-girl crush to sketch Ladybug, that’s how good she looks,” Kim added. “I’ve never seen him look at anyone else. But you’re about to find out why.”

“I am?” Chat didn’t need to ask why, though, because as soon as the words had left his mouth he spotted her. _I should definitely mention ‘spotted_ ’ he thought, taking in her polka-dotted dress. It was stunning, eye-catching even to a lifelong resident of the Moulin Rouge. It moved like one of his father’s costumes, with the key difference that it did not seem to restrict her movement in any way. She showed more confidence in a single step than Adrien had felt for the first fourteen years of his life and he immediately wanted nothing more than to know who this arresting woman was. Unfortunately, that did not seem to be in the cards, the top half of her face being covered by an artful domino mask.

“Ladybug!” Kim called, and the woman altered her path to come greet the trio.

“Kim, Alix,” she replied, and Alix very unsubtly hissed “ _Ladybug knows my name!_ ”

“My Lady,” Chat said, plucking her hand out of the air with all the suavity he could manage. “Allow me to introduce myself.”

“My good sir,” she replied, deftly taking her hand before he could kiss it, “France is far too free for you to require my permission for such a thing.” Chat fell a little bit in love with the barely discernable sass in her tone.

“In that case I find myself obliged to introduce you to myself,” he said outrageously, taking her hand and tucking it into the crook of his elbow. “Madame Bug, I am Chat Noir, and I will be your escort for as long as France remains at liberty.”

“That’s far too political a commitment, Chaton,” she admonished, though she permitted him to start them walking together with a wave over her shoulder at Kim and Alix. “I fear you’ll turn me into a traitor against my own country if I ever grow tired of you.”

“Then it is my patriotic duty to remain interesting, is it not?”

“I suppose you must, for France. Tell me, Chat Noir, how is it you intend to interest me?”

“In every way possible, My Lady. I have an arsenal of tricks I’m paw-sitive you’ll love.”

“Oh dear, I’ve just had a terrible urge to book passage to England.”

“But Ladybug! Do you not feel our connection? Twin symbols of luck, twin sides of the coin, destined for great partnership!” Chat knew he was laying it on thick, but Ladybug’s eyes remained amused. He went for the kill. “I could sense it the moment I _spotted_ you in the crowd.”

“Is this how you typically make friends, Chaton? You make puns at them until they’re worn down?”

“I would hardly do anything in the typical fashion for one as atypical as you, My Lady.” He smiled at her as winsomely as he knew how, earning a small huff of laughter despite Ladybug’s efforts to hold out.

“I’ve heard stories of you, Chat Noir, and I must say you’ve lived up to all of them. But my carriage approaches, so I will take my leave despite the continued liberty of our nation.” Chat could hear a carriage approaching, more via the sounds of the disgruntled crowd than the noise of wheels on cobblestones.

“Will I see you again, My Lady?” he asked, maybe a touch desperately. It was so rare to meet someone who matched him effortlessly in conversation - perhaps even  _out_ matched him.

“If I don’t see you first, then I suppose I cannot stop you,” she replied flippantly, neatly pulling them both out of the path of the oncoming carriage.

“Let me help you into your carriage, at least,” he offered, holding out a black-gloved hand. Her smile almost completely distracted him from the fact that the carriage wasn’t stopping in front of them as he had expected.

“Very well,” she acquiesced, and before he had quite processed what was happening she had grabbed his shoulder, using it and a well-placed foot on his thigh to boost herself high enough to catch the empty luggage rack on the box carriage which had nearly passed them. Swinging herself gracefully into the rack as though it were a throne instead of a shelf for extra bags, she waved sunnily at the stunned Chat standing in the carriage’s wake.

“Au revoir, Chaton,” she called. “Thanks for the hand up.”

“That was quite possibly the most spectacular thing I’ve ever seen,” Alix said, appearing at Chat’s elbow. “Pick your jaw up off the floor and I’ll buy you a drink if you tell me everything she said.” Chat nodded dumbly, watching the carriage carry Ladybug out of the market and firmly into his heart.

“I love her,” Kim announced, standing next to Chat in admiration.

“Buddy, get in line,” Chat replied.

* * *

 

Marinette was running on nothing but adrenaline and kouign amann, which she knew was going to turn into a problem at some point in the near future. The celebration with Alya and Nino had turned into less of a celebration and more of a gang-up-on-Marinette-until-she-agrees-to-play-our-lead-actress-because-Nino-thinks-she-and-Adrien-will-have-good-chemistry, meaning Mari had left Alya’s house with a slight alcohol buzz and a dire need to take out her aggression on some dough. Her parents had been delighted at her enthusiasm, wisely choosing not to comment on the fact that she hadn’t bothered to take the fancy ribbons out of her hair before coming to the bakery. When the dough had been beaten into submission and Marinette still had energy to spare, she had slipped away from the bakery to visit her second biggest secret.

The previous night had not been Marinette’s first trip to the Moulin Rouge. Though she had never been to a show, she had spent countless hours in a dingy, unmarked building at the back of the complex with Tikki, a possibly ageless woman who had seen Marinette eyeing fabric scraps the Moulin Rouge was throwing out and, instead of calling the gendarmes, invited the then-teenager to come look through the castoffs before they were thrown out. Tikki had immediately become Marinette’s hero, and the pair got along famously. Marinette would bring Tikki treats from the bakery, and Tikki always made certain to save the best castoff costumes for Marinette.

It was also Tikki who had inspired Marinette’s biggest secret: her masked wanderings as Ladybug. Mari had never been too confident; a clumsy child who spaced out a lot was always a good target for teasing, even by friends who meant well. She and Tikki had been talking about the transformative power of costumes, and Tikki had draped a makeshift mask over Marinette’s eyes.

“Sometimes, a change of clothing can mean everything,” the older woman had explained, gently prodding Marinette into a more confident posture. “When you wear a mask, no one knows you. And when no one knows you, no one knows what you can do.”

“What I can do? Tikki, I can’t do anything.”

“That’s Marinette talking, dearest,” Tikki had scolded gently. “What about the woman in the mask? What can she do?”

A sudden burst of inspiration had unfurled a world of possibilities before Marinette could even blink.

“Anything,” Ladybug had whispered. “I can do anything.”

‘Anything’ may have been an overstatement, but only slightly. The mask - and costume designed to go with it, because honestly, why  _wouldn't_ she design a full costume - let Marinette feel free to display certain personality traits that were unsuitable for a baker’s daughter. Ladybug was sharp-witted, flirtatious, sassy, and utterly unwilling to put up with anyone’s bullshit. The first time she had seen someone attempting a mugging, righteous indignation had spurred her into action. It turned out that a lifetime in a bakery kitchen not only shaped muscles, but also dexterity born from dodging around the other bakers. The would-be mugger was on the ground before Marinette’s rational brain caught up with her, and by then the feeling of triumph was too overwhelming.

Ladybug’s reputation spread like wildfire, and Marinette found herself going out in the costume more and more frequently. Alya had almost caught her once, and only some very quick thinking (and even faster talking) had let Marinette convince her friend that the costume was for the show. Alya had been the first person Marinette had wanted to tell, but the first day they met after Ladybug’s initial adventure, Alya had greeted Mari with a tirade on the need to inform the public of Ladybug’s identity. Unwilling to let anyone connect the shy baker’s daughter to the bold quasi-vigilante, Marinette had resigned herself to keeping her secret.

            The freedom of the mask was worth the guilt over lying to her best friend, Ladybug reflected as she tried not to grin too openly at the stunned Chat Noir left in the wake of her carriage. After visiting Tikki hadn’t been enough to settle her crazy adrenaline rush, Ladybug had gone out into town, hoping for...something. Paris, as usual, had delivered in an unexpected way. Chat Noir had been amusing, certainly, and Ladybug was glad to finally meet him after all the rumors she had heard of his antics. He may have been over-the-top flirtatious, but it still seemed so much more genuine than the show Adrien had put on the night before at the Moulin Rouge.

            The thought of the blond actor made Marinette even twitchier than she already was. Tikki wasn’t in the dilapidated little workroom Marinette had taken to using as her dressing room - Alya seeing the Ladybug costume once was quite enough, thank you - so the seamstress was free to dwell on her own thoughts as she changed. The longer she thought about Adrien, the more upset she grew, until she finally decided something simply had to be done. Since she was already at the Moulin Rouge, Marinette marched determinedly toward the more populated areas of the back of the house. As the star, Adrien was likely somewhere in the thick of things.

            The eclectic backstage world was drowsy this early in the afternoon. Through one thin wall Marinette caught the sound of someone calling out choreography, and through another, the gentle plunking of a piano being played. Mari was starting to lose a little bit of steam when she finally caught sight of a garish door labeled “Adrien” in a glittery, flourishing script. The door was enough to pique her temper again - a dim part of her brain recognized that she was sleep deprived to the point of irrationality, but that part was drowned out by the angry rapping of her fist on Adrien’s door.

            “Come in, Plagg, stop trying to wake everyone up,” came the grumpy response. Ignoring the fact that Adrien clearly thought she was someone else, Marinette marched in.

            “Why are you the way you are?” she demanded, carefully planned dialogue flying out of her head at the site of Adrien standing shirtless at the small sink along the wall. He had clearly been washing his face, and the water dripping from his chin was dancing distractingly down his chest.

            “Excuse me, what?” he managed, grasping blindly for a towel. Marinette could almost see his persona engage, and his next question came out in a much more polished tone. “Was there something I can help you with, mademoiselle?”

            “You could start by explaining yourself, MONSOIR,” Marinette said, making the honorific as scathing as possible. “Your conduct yesterday was reprehensible! Did you mean anything you said, or were you just praising my designs because you thought I was the duchess? Have you ever said anything true in your entire life?”

            “Marinette, am I correct?” Adrien’s voice was still carefully refined. “Nino’s designer. You seem to be under some delusion about what, exactly, my role in this institution is.”

            “Your role in this institution?”

            “I am not just the principal performer; I am also the Moulin Rouge’s greatest asset. It is my job to ensure that we do not lose out on opportunities to improve the caliber of our offerings to the public. Sometimes that means flattering the aristocracy. Other times, that means recruiting promising talent.” His voice had softened, and Marinette felt herself calming down.

            “Recruiting talent?” she asked, pulling deep from the wells of her fast-draining indignation. “So you’ll flirt with anyone who comes in here with a half-decent sketchbook?”

            “I’ll do whatever it takes to improve the Moulin Rouge,” Adrien corrected, some emotion finally cracking through his facade. “You shouldn’t think you’re special because I flirted with you.”

            “You said you were in love with me!” Marinette shot back, distantly aware that she was on the border of yelling. “That’s a bit more than flirting, don’t you think?”

            “I was trying to say that you should think you’re special because you’re talented,” Adrien groaned, dragging a hand through his hair. Marinette was somewhat delighted to see him emote so openly.

            “And you’re still trying flattery, like I’ll fall for that again?”

            “No, I’m trying to say that what I say shouldn’t matter!”

            “Well then why did you say it in the first place?”

            “I was just doing my job! Or what I thought was my job. There was a mix-up and you got caught up in it but you’re very talented and I’m genuinely looking forward to wearing the clothing you design, okay?” Adrien sighed, and Marinette realized with a jolt that she believed him.

            “You really think my designs are good?” she asked, wide-eyed.

            “Your designs are amazing,” he confirmed, dashing the last of Marinette’s anger. Without that energy, her all-nighter was definitely catching up to her.

            “Well, thank you,” she managed, drawing herself up to leave in what she hoped was a dignified manner. She tripped on the rug on the way into the hall, but hopefully Adrien hadn’t seen that. Disgruntled at the realization that she wanted him to think as highly of her as he did of her designs, Marinette blearily made her overdue way home to bed. The feeling in her gut that could be coalescing into a crush could wait for another fourteen hours or so, she decided, literally falling onto her bed. Sleep first. Everything else later.

* * *

 

            For the second time in as many days, Adrien found himself slumping against a door that had just shut behind a hurricane of a woman. Only Plagg ever bothered to knock on Adrien’s door in a manner that was anything but respectful, and he only did that to be obnoxious. Hearing what he thought was Plagg’s knock and instead being confronted with an angry Marinette had been shock enough, and Adrien was futher discombobulated by his earlier run-in with Ladybug. Marinette had come in just as he was finishing washing off Chat’s trademark soot mask, and the blond couldn’t help smirking a little at the obvious distraction his body had caused her. She was interesting, that was for sure. Nothing like the mysterious Ladybug, but Adrien wasn’t about to complain about the designer’s prospective career with the Moulin Rouge. 

* * *

 

“And it will be the grandest show in Paris and I was going to act in it but I'd rather just watch it every single showing because Adrien will be SO HANDSOME, daddy, it’ll be fantastic!”

Nathalie was reluctantly impressed by the lung capacity of the duchess currently occupying the best chair in her office. The woman had been talking for nearly fifteen minutes straight and her father was nodding along as he perused the contract Nathalie had written.

“I’m just glad you’ve found such a lovely hobby, dearest,” he told her, pen hovering over the signature line that would release to the Moulin Rouge more funding than anyone but Nathalie had dared dream of. Nathalie dared to dream of the obscene number of zeroes, because her job was to fund the day-to-day extravagance that was Gabriel Agreste’s nightclub. She wished the man would sign already, but at the last moment, Chloe stayed his hand.

“And Adrien won’t have to do shows for anyone else anymore?”

Nathalie’s eyes narrowed. That wasn’t in the contract, and Adrien was too lucrative to take offstage.

“It sounds like I should meet this young man,” the duke said indulgently. “If my Chloe likes him so much, I’m sure he won’t mind being put at her exclusive disposal.”

“You must understand, our revenue would take a significant hit from that,” Nathalie hedged.

“I’m sure this will cover the difference,” the duke said dismissively, adding another zero to the contract. Nathalie couldn’t help the grin that spread across her face.

“The duchess will have complete control over Adrien’s schedule,” she agreed. “He will have eyes for no one but her.”

The duke signed the contract.

* * *

“So how did you say you know Marinette again?” Alya asked Ladybug suspiciously.

“I simply love this plot,” Ladybug demurred, ignoring the question completely. “I’m thrilled to be a part of the show.”

“Really, we’re happy to have you,” Nino said. “I thought Marinette would be great for the part, but I’m looking forward to seeing how you do onstage.”

Ladybug smiled, leading the way up to the Moulin Rouge entrance like she owned the place. Upon waking from her comalike night of sleep, Marinette had realized that her fledgeling crush on Adrien had somehow blown up overnight, meaning there was no way she could possibly face him again. After barging into his dressing room to yell at him, there was no way she was going to get onstage and act in a romantic play with the man. Her solution had been to show up in full Ladybug regalia, breezing past Alya and Nino’s questions and saying simply that she knew Marinette, who had offered her the role of leading lady so long as the other creative directors didn’t object. Alya’s eyes had nearly bugged out, but Nino had immediately given her a speculative once-over and declared her a perfect match for Adrien onstage.

The Moulin Rouge was in a happy state of chaos when they arrived, brimming with performers and stagehands dashing to move things around and arguing over who, exactly, had the most important task.

“Really, we’re just letting them tire themselves out,” came a murmur from beside them. “We’ll have real movers come in and clear everything out before the construction of the new stage begins.”

“Adrien!” Nino greeted happily. The blond pushed off the wall to hug his friend, after which Nino made formal introductions.

“This is Alya, our literary genius-” Adrien kissed her hand with a cheeky wink “-and our lead opposite you, Mademoiselle Ladybug.” Marinette was sure she was imagining the blush staining Adrien’s cheeks as he bowed over her hand as well.

“I’m very glad to meet you, and look forward to working together.”

His gallantry made her extra sure of her decision to act as Ladybug rather than Marinette; Marinette would have stuttered out an incoherent reply while turning redder than Ladybug’s jacket. Ladybug, however, patted Adrian’s cheek like a doting mother.

“Such a sweet young man you are,” she cooed, delighted to see his eyes widen in shock. “And it’s lovely to see you already acting.”

“I- I’m-“ Adrian looked unfairly cute for someone so far from coherency.

“Now, we haven’t actually seen the lovely Ladybug act,” Nino interrupted, mind still on the show, “but she has quite the presence so we can’t imagine it not going well. And her acting leaves Marinette free to focus on design.”

“Where is Marinette?” Alya asked, looking around suspiciously. “It’s not like her to miss a meeting like this.” Ladybug was on the verge of panicking at the realization she had forgotten to concoct a plausible excuse, when a soft voice piped up.

“Marinette is already waist deep in fabric samples, in the back.” Tikki smoothly introduced herself to the three of them, tossing Ladybug a small wink while shaking her hand. “She’s been here working for a bit now, and asked me to come tell you she’s terribly sorry but wouldn’t want to be distracted.”

“That’s our Mari,” Alya said fondly, and Ladybug managed to give Tikki’s hand a grateful squeeze as they moved towards the stage.

The plan for the day was a basic stage test, to ensure the chemistry of the leading actors. Ladybug of course knew a good portion of the lines already, and Adrian said he’d studied, so they decided to do the love declaration scene as the test. As Nino put it, “everything else is just scaling down from there.”

The core of the play was the story of a prince and princess who disguise themselves for a night of dodging the responsibilities of their station at a masquerade. The two meet and fall in love, not realizing until the finale that their dreaded arranged marriages are, in fact, to their mysterious masquerade partner. The pair first meet unmasked at another ball to celebrate their engagement, and during this ball realize each others’ true identities.

Getting into position for the emotional final scene required a waltz pose, which Ladybug firmly refused to allow herself to blush at. Adrian’s hand hovered nervously over her back, as though he was unsure of being allowed to touch her.

“That’s good,” Nino called. “I like how you look like you want nothing to do with your arranged fiancée, Adrian.” The blond promptly blushed further, and Ladybug couldn’t resist a gentle teasing remark.

“I promise I won’t bite, darling. That’s a strictly post-love confession activity.”

“Let’s get started, shall we?” Adrian’s voice sounded a bit strangled, and he nearly knocked them both over as he attempted to initiate the waltz.

“Your Highness dances rather well,” Ladybug replied demurely, slipping into character as the lovelorn princess.

“I could return the compliment in earnest.” Perhaps unsurprisingly, Adrian fell into his role without missing a beat.

“I must confess, though, that you are not the best partner I’ve ever had.”

“Sorry to disappoint. I shall endeavor to improve.”

“I don’t know that your improvement will stand much chance, I’m afraid.” Ladybug tried to look away shyly without missing the waltz steps. She’d definitely need some dance practice. “I am unfortunately besotted with my other partner.”

“Such refreshing honesty from my fiancée,” Adrian laughed, sounding relieved rather than upset. “And rest easy that I go no more eagerly into our marriage, having recently fallen in love myself. A woman most enchanting.”

“Enchanting?” Ladybug asked hopefully. It was a word the prince would use during their masked conversation, leading to the identity reveal.

“Bewitching,” Adrian confirmed, then paused awkwardly as he turned to address the directors. “The script said I’m supposed to do a fancy dance move here, but I’m assuming choreography will happen later?”

“Obviously,” Alya said impatiently, waving for them to get on with it. Ladybug gasped, staring at Adrian.

“You were at the Marvelous Masquerade!” she exclaimed, pressing closer to him. Adrian blushed violently again, but managed to stay in character.

“You wore blue silk,” he murmured, ignoring Alya’s call of ‘the script says green!’

“I fell in love that night,” Ladybug confessed, and Adrian clasped her hands hopefully.

“Without knowing the identity of the man behind the mask?”

“It could have been anyone, but I can’t express how glad I am it was you.” She leaned in, caught up in the scene, but Adrian stepped back quickly.

“Then we kiss, lovely, big music swell, happy ending, yes?” He sounded tense and Ladybug tried not to be insulted. Rudely, the reason for his sudden distance made itself known presently.

“I’m not sure how I feel about Adrian kissing other women,” Duchess Chloe said with what she clearly meant to be a teasing tone. It sounded vaguely threatening.

“Duchess, what a pleasure to see you,” Adrian enthused, bounding off the stage to kiss her hand over-elaborately.

“Adrikins, you’re almost as good to look at as I am,” she flirted, pressing a kiss to his cheek. Ladybug was fairly certain no one else could see how tightly Adrian had clenched his other fist behind his back. Unfortunately, he wasn’t the only one in Chloe’s sights.

“And the incredible Madamoiselle Ladybug!” the blonde enthused, sweeping towards Ladybug in a hug she didn’t see a graceful way of dodging. “I’ve heard so much about you, of course I’m thrilled to have you in our little production. If anyone has to play opposite my Adrian, I’m glad it’s you.”

Ladybug was perplexed as to how the crème de la crème had heard of her, but a mischievous smile from Tikki led her to guess that the older woman had been sharing some carefully cultivated gossip and the Duchess didn’t want to seem uninformed. Tikki was the best. 

* * *

 

The show was progressing remarkably smoothly, but the rehearsal time added to Adrian’s already busy schedule made him itch all the more for the freedom of being Chat. Play rehearsals were far and away more fun than regular show rehearsals, but they were a double-edged sword. On the one hand, he got to spend time with his best friend Nino, his dream woman Ladybug, and a surprising but welcome new friend Alya. On the other hand, his crush on Ladybug was getting out of hand, and the more she brushed off his polished flirtations the more inauthentic he found himself getting. Chloe’s general existence also didn’t help, fawning over him and expecting him to have new shows, just for her, every week or so.

He’s managed to run into Ladybug twice more as Chat, knowledge of her rehearsal schedule letting him ‘coincidentally’ bump into her near the Moulin Rouge. Both times, he’d kept his wits about him better – Chat is always more confident than Adrien, more brash – but she’d still solidly outclassed him, somehow even less impressed by his real personality than she is by the carefully groomed persona he all-too-often shows her as Adrian. At least as Chat he made her laugh. Still, this has done nothing but make him more determined to impress her one way or another.

He had hoped to catch Ladybug leaving their most recent rehearsal, but an hour or so of fruitless wandering led him to conclude that he had somehow missed her. Not feeling up to much more socializing, Chat found himself creeping through the back rooms of the Moulin Rouge all too soon after he set out. In an effort to avoid a group of chorus members he ducked into a usually empty room, leaning against the wall.

“Are you lost?” a voice asked archly, and he realized that what he had taken for an overladen dressmaker’s dummy was actually a person holding a ridiculous amount of fabric.

“Not nearly as lost as you are under all that fabric,” he replied without thinking.

“Someone took my table, I’m doing the best I can,” snapped the pile of fabric, and Chat realized he recognized her; it was Marinette, the baker’s daughter turned designer.

“The lead designer shouldn’t be wanting for furniture,” he said, not realizing his error until she narrowed her eyes at him.

“How do you know I’m the lead designer? You don’t work here.”

“How does anyone know anything? You seem quite sure of my employment, or lack thereof,” he stalled. Chat was surprised how fierce Marinette’s voice sounded. Other than the one time she had yelled at him (noticeably not at all herself), Marinette had never spoken harshly or even clearly to Adrien.

“Doesn’t everyone around here know the infamous Chat Noir?”

Chat was fairly certain he was being teased. He was not prepared.

“Maybe everyone also knows the lead designer, did you consider that?” he parried, knowing it was weak even as he said it.

“You literally just thought I was a pile of fabric.”

“Only until you talked!”

“Such stunning observational skills.”

Chat was doubly perplexed at her dry tone, first because he didn’t expect it from shy, sweet Marinette, and second because he couldn’t recall a single woman he’d interacted with, from tiny children to grandmothers, who he hadn’t been able to charm despite his chimney sweep getup.

“Perhaps you should work in a better lit room,” he suggested, putting on his most rakish tone. “It can’t be good for your eyes to work in a space where you shine the most brightly.”

“How flattering,” she started, and his grin ticked up a notch, smug. “You think I’m the brightest thing in a room with no lights.” Chat’s smile fell, realizing his mistake.

“Would it help if I said I think you’re prettier than the new chandelier?” he tried weakly.

“That chandelier is a gaudy monstrosity I intend to cover as much as possible.”

“Not a fan of the Duchess’s tastes, eh?” Chat leaned against the wall, deciding that in lieu of charming Marinette he’d love to take the rare chance to complain about the self-proclaimed mistress of the theatre.

“I’d ask if you’re trying to get me fired, but I can’t imagine her haughtiness allowing herself to be in the same room as someone covered in so much soot,” Marinette teased.

“I swear, she threatened to skin a stagehand who stepped on her dress,” Chat griped, weeks of frustration bubbling up. “What does she expect, with such ridiculous trains? And they aren’t even tasteful!”

“To be fair, most people don’t come to the Moulin Rouge for tasteful,” Marinette pointed out, startling a laugh out of Chat.

“Fine, they aren’t elegant or artistically interesting.”

“It’s amazing Adrien can even stand to look at her, let alone all the flirting he does.”

“What do you mean?” Chat knew it was probably a bad idea to talk about himself like this, but he was terribly curious about Marinette’s opinions, and it wasn’t likely she’s ever tell him to his face. Er, his other face.

“I just thought he had better taste than that.” Marinette sounded almost sad. “It makes it a little less meaningful every time he compliments my designs. Which, of course, he’s pretending are hers.”

“That doesn’t sound fun.” Chat genuinely felt bad, but at this point they were all committed to the ruse that Chloe had designed the costumes and Marinette was just making them.

“I don’t know that there’s much Adrien can do,” Marinette confessed. “It seems like he doesn’t always have a lot of choice, between what he wants and what the Moulin Rouge needs.”

Chat just stared at the seamstress. He had felt that way basically his entire life, but had never heard anyone articulate it so succinctly.

“Well if he likes your designs at all, his taste can’t be totally hopeless,” he managed.

“You’re just trying to flatter your way into my good graces,” she accused.

“Maybe I’m hoping you’ll make me a snazzy hat,” he replied shamelessly.

“Close your eyes.” Barely believing her boldness, Chat did as commanded. He felt something on his head and caught a whiff of pastry, but by the time he opened his eyes Marinette was already facing away from him, busy at work.

“Off you go, Chaton,” she told him, and he was too bemused by her previously unknown personality to wonder why it felt so familiar to be called Chaton.

Making it back to his quarters undetected, Chat finally had the chance to see what Marinette had done while his eyes were closed. He couldn’t help but laugh at the black ribbon she had affixed to his customary hat; it looked like cat ears.

* * *

Had it been anyone but Chloe’s father footing the bill, Marinette would’ve felt guilty about pulling double salary, as Ladybug the actress and Marinette the head costumer. However, Chloe’s actions had a way of assuaging any thought that she didn’t more than deserve whatever the Duke was paying her. The spoiled blonde was still claiming credit for Marinette’s sketchbook, and the way Adrien fawned over her made Marinette want to punch things. Much to her -and Alya’s- frustration, Marinette’s infatuation with the leading man had only grown, getting stronger every time he distracted Chloe from needlessly berating a crew member or trying to fire Nino for whatever imagined (or, to be honest, real) slight he had most recently perpetrated.

Nino himself was fuming at her most recent attempt, Alya rubbing his shoulders soothingly while she glared at the duchess. Marinette felt bad for abandoning her friends, but since she had finished Adrien’s most recent costume fitting, she thought it would be best to go backstage before she tried to smother Chloe with her latest stupid hat. She let the work calm her, enjoying the large tables that had mysteriously shown up in her workspace recently. Tikki had claimed ignorance of their origin, but Marinette had brought her an extra dozen cookies anyway.

“I hear the duchess was looking for her sketchbook earlier,” a voice said, startling Marinette out of her work trance. Chat Noir was lounging in the door, grinning insouciantly.

“It must be easy to lose things in those yards of unnecessary fabric she wears,” Marinette replied in her best innocent voice. The chimney sweep had stopped by several more times since their first meeting, always flirting and teasing reluctant smiles from Marinette while she worked. She refused to admit how much she enjoyed his company, maintaining a toned-down version of Ladybug’s teasing disdain. The two had quickly bonded over their dislike for the duchess, though Chat’s insistence on constantly talking about Ladybug made Marinette a bit uneasy that he had somehow figured her out.

“Maybe she wants the theatre to be fully electric because she’s such a fire hazard,” he suggested. “Did you finish the new design for Ladybug’s ballgown?”

“I’ve been trying to mitigate the disaster that is Chloe’s creative input all morning,” Marinette grumbled. “If she wasn’t such a fan, I’d think she wanted Ladybug to collapse under the weight of her own dress. Why would anyone ever need to wear four different layers of velvet?”

“She might love velvet as much as she loves our leading lady,” Chat snarked, and Marinette had to laugh. As far as she and Tikki had been able to determine, the Duchess had repeated Tikki’s initial gossip, which had only been meant to encourage the Duchess to let Ladybug perform. However, several sycophantic friends of the Duchess had attempted to curry favor by talking about this new theatrical sensation, and now Ladybug was genuinely famous despite having never acted publicly. This fame fueled Chloe’s obsession with befriending Ladybug, which was a double edged sword in that Ladybug had to put up with her much more than she’d like, but could get away with any number of scathing remarks thanks to Chloe's awe of her.

“Speaking of Ladybug,” Chat segued artlessly, as he almost always did, “were you around when she did that stunt with the palace door prop? It was incredible!”

Ladybug had just been playing around, honestly trying to blow off some steam and work up an excuse for her face being so red after prolonged contact with Adrien. The slackjawed look he followed her around the stage with was just icing on the éclair.

“She exercises a lot,” Marinette hedged, always reluctant to talk about her alter ego. “Adrien’s dancing, though, that’s something to watch.”

“I don’t really get it. He’s done much more spectacular shows here; none of the numbers in the play are too difficult.” Chat sounded grumpy about it.

“Knowing that the dances aren’t difficult for him and seeing him still dedicate himself to the performance regardless is extra impressive, then,” she defended.

“You really think Adrien is the best thing since electricity, don’t you?”

“I just think he’s a really good person.” Marinette could feel herself blushing but stubbornly pressed on. “He’s a brilliant performer and his voice is so good for the stage, he should never have been left silent for so long.”

“Looking good on stage doesn’t make someone a good person,” Chat grumbled. He looked sort of annoyed, and sort of embarrassed, which Marinette didn’t understand. She felt the need to explain herself, if only to stop him from sounding so judgmental.

“I turn into a stuttering mess around him,” she said plainly. “I don’t think I’ve managed more than three complete sentences to him before, but he’s still incredibly kind to me every time we interact. He’s nice to everyone, and you can’t fake that. He goes out of his way to be kind, and he would do anything for the theatre and the people here.”

Chat’s answering smile was oddly soft.

“You should try having a conversation with him,” he advised. “I bet he would love to talk to you about design.”

Marinette laughed humorlessly. As if she could ever speak to Adrien without a mask between them. 

* * *

 

Adrien had hoped, after her confession to Chat, that Marinette might try for a conversation with him, but she remained shy and professional, only managing to speak without stuttering when she was directing him during costume fittings. Sometimes he couldn’t help flirting a little, just to watch her blush. He really wasn’t quite as kind as she thought.

His main hopes, of course, were all centered around Ladybug. Despite his still-rampant crush, the two had managed to become friendly, and he knew that he was technically supposed to be wooing the Duchess anyway. Still, he would endure any number of bruising arm squeezes from the blonde for the commiserating looks he could share with Ladybug over her head.

Adrien was riding high after a day of rehearsal that Chloe hadn’t attended. They’d been practicing the grand finale, which ended with his face delightfully close to Ladybug’s, in an artistic dip that showed how perfectly their costumes complimented each other to form a complete image. Chloe had vetoed an actual onstage kiss, her protests of decency barely concealing her obvious jealousy, but Adrien couldn’t help audaciously stealing a kiss on Ladybug’s cheek. He’d seen a slight flush under her mask, but the real high point had been at the end of the next run-through. She’d snuck a kiss directly on the tip of his nose, and he’d been so surprised he dropped her. Her laughter made the resulting extra run-throughs immensely worth it.

He was feeling a little dizzy after so much exertion – probably not enough to eat – so his father was able to accidentally sneak up on him.

“Adrien, a word.” To anyone else it probably sounded like a request, but Adrien knew that wasn’t how Gabriel Agreste functioned. Trying to calm his now-racing heart, he stepped into his father’s office.

“How are you, father?” he asked, aiming for small talk.

“Disappointed,” Gabriel replied, as usual eschewing pleasantries. “I’m sure you were informed of the Duchess’s expectations of you while her father is paying our bills.”

“Have I not done everything she’s asked?” Adrien couldn’t hide the frustration in his voice. He was sure he’d done nothing to displease his admittedly fickle patron.

“It was made tacitly clear that you would not engage with anyone else while the Duchess desires your attention.”

“Have I not been?”

“It has come to my attention that you have been flirting with the lead actress.” Gabriel managed to make ‘flirting’ sound far dirtier than the innocent remarks – and now kisses – the pair had shared. “Not to mention the way you talk to the costumer.”

“Am I not allowed to enjoy my work?” This kind of boldness was unusual for him, but after the day’s rehearsal he was unwilling to immediately concede whatever he and Ladybug might have.

“Your work is to do whatever the Moulin Rouge requires of you,” Gabriel snapped. “And as of now we require you to have eyes for the Duchess and the Duchess only.”

“I’ll stop flirting with Marinette, I was just having fun,” he started, but Gabriel didn’t let him off so easily.

“You will remain strictly professional with Ladybug from here on out, before the Duchess takes notice of your disobedience.”

“Can we not be friends?” Adrien tried desperately.

“Do you believe you can control your feelings?” Gabriel asked, somehow making ‘feelings’ sound even worse than ‘flirting.’

Adrien felt gutted. He wasn’t sure he could even look at Ladybug without his adoration writ clear on his face. For a moment, he entertained the hope of keeping up his friendship – friendships, really, because he didn’t want to stop talking to Marinette either – as Chat, but quickly realized how difficult it had become to separate the two identities. He would have to end everything.

“The Moulin Rouge created you,” Gabriel said flatly. “Without it, you are nothing. Without you, it will go on. Do not waste what you have.”

* * *

Ladybug was angry. It was rare for her to feel such overwhelming rage, much more prone to quick fits of frustration that could be worked out through some therapeutic dough kneading. But after being suddenly deprived of two friends with no explanation, she couldn’t help but rail against whatever factor of the universe had decided to load these stressors upon her when she was already dealing with so much as opening night rapidly approached.

Hoping to clear her head, she was taking an unnecessarily acrobatic route to an often deserted but scenic rooftop nearby the Moulin Rouge. Reveling in the strain of her muscles and the carefree feeling of flying through the air, she didn’t notice the rooftop was occupied until she nearly knocked Chat Noir off of it. Once they had both recovered, she didn’t let him get a word out before she unleashed her suddenly renewed fury.

“I’d apologize for nearly knocking you off the roof, except it seems like you’d be perfectly content for me to have fallen instead.”

“Ladybug, what-“ he started, eyes wide, but she didn’t want to hear his excuses.

“Did you think I wouldn’t notice that you’ve suddenly started avoiding me? I actually got worried about you, so I asked around and found out you’ve been fine with talking to everyone else. It’s just ME you don’t want to see anymore.”

“I thought we were friends! I thought you liked talking to me! I thought we had fun! Apparently you disagree!” she was fully ranting now. “Were you ever at least going to tell me what I did wrong? Or did you just decide you hate all brunettes now? It’s one thing for Adrien to realize he’s too good for a simple costumer, but we were _friends_! You laughed at my jokes and helped me fix my hems and complimented me to get baked goods and then suddenly I’m not even worth telling that you won’t be coming around anymore?”

Chat’s eyes had gotten wider and wider as she went, and his eventual reply was not what she’d expected.

“Marinette?” he asked, which was pretty stupid. Was he trying to pretend he didn’t even recognize her? It’s not like she was in disguise.

Then Ladybug abruptly realized that she was, in fact, in disguise, and she had just completely blown her cover. Sheepishly, she swiped off her mask.

“Not like you’ve been any nicer to me as Ladybug,” she grumbled. “And I suppose it’s too much to ask that you don’t tell anyone.”

“Marinette,” he repeated, then started laughing.

“Don’t you dare make fun of me now!” she yelled, slapping him on the arm. Her face was flaming red, embarrassed to be caught in her dress up playacting.

“No, honestly, I’m laughing at myself,” he gasped, rubbing at his face. His next words were muffled as he worked to remove all the soot that usually distorted his features. “I was thinking about how embarrassing it is that I would talk to you about you, but then I realized that you talked just as much about me to me.”

Marinette was confused for a moment, until he showed his face and removed his hat in one go.

“Adrien?” she squeaked. Then she processed what he had meant, thinking about how many times she had gushed to Chat about the actor in front of her. Almost as much, she realized, as Chat had mooned over Ladybug to Marinette. There really was nothing for it but to laugh.

“I’m still mad at you,” she told him once they’d gotten their giggles under control. “Maybe doubly so, now that I know it’s the same person whose been ignoring me. Or quadruply so, since Chat and Adrien have been ignoring Ladybug and Marinette?” She thought for a moment, then gave up. “However mad I am, I would like an explanation.”

Adrien’s face had fallen, and he stared out over the city rather than look her in the eye.

“I can’t tell you how much our friendship meant to me,” he said quietly. “I do admire Ladybug, so much, and as Chat I had so much fun with Marinette. I was just dressing as Chat to try and talk to Ladybug, but I had so much fun in your sewing room that I started splitting my visits because I knew you always made me laugh. But all of it was getting to be too much.”

“Too much how?” Marinette’s anger had mostly turned to worry; she hated the distance in Adrien’s voice.

“I’m not allowed to be interested in anyone besides the Duchess,” he said emotionlessly. “And if I stayed friends with you, I’d be breaking that rule.”

“You’re allowed to have friends,” Marinette protested, her ferocity surprising herself almost as much as it did him. He smiled at her, but it was bitter.

“I could have tried to be friends,” he admitted. “But it was easier to cut off the temptation. And now that I know you’re the same person... As Ladybug you’re so confident and clever and sharp, and as Marinette you’re incredibly creative and sweet and loyal to your friends. I don’t stand a chance.”

“Do you really mean it?” Marinette gasped. Between Chat’s infatuation with Ladybug being so over-the-top she thought it was a joke, and her inability to string together a full sentence in front of Adrien, she never would have imagined either one had real feelings for her.

Adrien nodded, still not looking at her. Her protectiveness from before increased tenfold.

“Chloe doesn’t own you!” she burst out. “You’re a person, not a toy for her to say no one else gets to be near. You’re allowed to have feelings!”

He finally met her gaze, eyes welling up.

Mari, that’s not how my life works,” he whispered, but he gripped back hard when she grabbed his hand.

"Then we’ll change things,” she vowed. “I only just found out you like me the way I like you, and I’m not going to give that up without a fight.”

* * *

 

            Adrien was still in a daze two weeks later, less than ten days before opening night. Not only were the two women who had captivated him actually one and the same, but she turned out to appreciate his whole self in a way no one else ever had. Marinette genuinely appreciated the artistry of Adrien’s performances, Chat’s sense of humor, the mischievous streak that never went away. Not to mention how pink her cheeks got when he hit her with his actual smile. He’d trained his face to have a more customer-pleasing smile, but she unerringly drew out his real, crooked grin, and she loved it.

            While his promise to his father meant he couldn’t openly act the way he wanted to during rehearsal, he snuck away to her sewing room at every opportunity. Plagg and Marinette’s friend Tikki both helped, and Adrien had found himself sleeping on a cot hidden under extra fabric more often than in his own bed. Marinette had essentially moved in to the Moulin Rouge, only going home every few days for essentials. Her double salary had meant being able to hire extra help for her parents’ bakery, and these days she smelled less like baked goods and more like the perfume Adrien had once gifted Ladybug in a misguided feat of courtship. Tikki was the only one who protested at all, saying her supply of baked goods better not be cut off.

Well, there was one other person who was not happy.

“If she tries to put more ribbons on your ballroom costume one more time I’m going to strangle her with them!” Marinette growled, furiously erasing the alterations Chloe had drawn in her sketchbook.

“I don’t understand why she wants me in so much yellow,” Adrien commented, too contented by Marinette’s presence in his lap to spare much emotion for the Duchess. “I don’t look good in yellow.”

“She’s like a dog trying to mark her territory in garish velvet,” Marinette snarked, allowing herself to be pulled further into his arms.

“I’d rather wear your red and black any day, my lady,” he promised, peppering soft kisses into her hair. She snuggled into his chest contentedly, fiddling with the front of the jacket he was ostensibly in the room to be fitted for. It was, indeed, red and black, and Marinette huffed a laugh.

“I think maybe I’ve been subconsciously doing the same thing I just accused Chloe of, then.”

“I don’t mind,” he assured her. “Maybe I’ll put you in my Chat Noir hat.”

They both laughed, but Adrien felt a deep thrill of satisfaction when Ladybug was sporting a new hat at rehearsals the next day. 

* * *

 “I think I should be in the play,” Chloe announced, and Nathalie glared at the redhead behind her. Sabrina had been caught nosing around the backstage halls too many times for Nathalie to think anyone else could be behind Chloe’s sudden mistrust in Adrien’s affections. Very little happened at the Moulin Rouge without Nathalie finding out, and Adrien’s infatuation with the costumer had only been permitted so long as there were no inconveniences. Having to meet with an irate Chloe inconvenienced Nathalie greatly.

“I’m unsure why you think Adrien’s attentions are wavering in the first place,” Nathalie tried, but Chloe harrumphed.

“He’s an artist, and he won’t take me seriously unless he recognizes me as an artist too,” she sulked. “He and Ladybug keep taking that stupid working-class costumer’s side over mine, but they won’t be able to do that if I’m in the show too.”

“Duchess, opening night is three days away. I’m not sure there’s time-“

“Shall I talk to my father about funding?” Chloe asked, tone saccharine but face unyielding. Nathalie sighed, cursing Sabrina again for whispering in the Duchess’s ear.

“I will see to it that you – and your designs – are on stage on opening night.” 

* * *

It was almost late enough to be early when Adrien was finally able to slip away, his need to see Marinette almost physical after the bombshell Nathalie had dropped on the cast and crew that afternoon. He had no idea how they were going to accommodate all of Chloe’s last-minute changes, but knew Marinette had it even worse; not only did she have to learn the whole new play, she also had to redo almost all of the costumes. Sabrina, Chloe’s flunky, had been deemed the only one fit to dress the duchess herself, so at least Marinette didn’t have to suffer through any fittings with her.

The door to the costuming room was in sight when Nathalie stepped out of a shadowy alcove, cutting him off. Recovering from what felt like a mini heart attack, Adrien was powerless to stop her from propelling him back into the shadows, effectively cornering him.

“Off to visit your seamstress?” Nathalie asked, as if they were just discussing the weather. He couldn’t formulate a plausible denial quickly enough, but even as his brain scrambled for an excuse he knew it was pointless. Nathalie knew everything.

“Nathalie,” he started, but had no idea how to continue. As usual, Nathalie knew exactly where she was going.

“Marinette du Pain, rising star in the fashion world, also the only child of a pair of bakers, and good friend to our writer and musician. Not to mention secret actress, known to most by nothing more than the moniker Ladybug, quickly becoming a hot topic in Paris society circles.” Adrien gaped, sideswiped by Nathalie’s knowledge of Marinette’s secret, but she didn’t give him any time to recover before she continued, tone still deceptively calm.

“As house manager of the most notorious fashion institution in Paris, I can make or break the career of any designer I choose, up to and including Gabriel Agreste. The du Pain family bakery is next to an empty building which would be astonishingly easy to turn into a small tannery, making everything that comes out of their ovens taste like curing leather. I’ve already bought the building, just in case. Nino and Alya are just starting out, and one small scandal could ruin them. You do not need to be reminded how quickly I can manufacture a scandal. And, of course, Ladybug. How would high society feel to have been duped by a baker’s daughter? She’d never be welcome anywhere again.”

“What do you want?” Adrian managed, aghast and Nathalie’s ruthlessness.

“I want, as always, what is best for the Moulin Rouge. And right now, that is for Chloe Bourgeoise to be happy. Her happiness depends on your actions, and since you have proven incapable of governing them for yourself, I am stepping in. Ladybug will not perform on our stage. Marinette will not sew another stitch in our halls. You will be dutifully attentive to our patron’s daughter and at the end of the show in two nights you will feel so overcome by the success of the play that you will spontaneously propose to her on stage. Are we clear.” It wasn’t a question, so Adrien didn’t try to choke out an answer. Nathalie, apparently satisfied, let him stumble the last few steps to the door he’d been aiming for. 

* * *

 

It was two hours until the curtain rose on opening night of the play they’d all worked so hard on. Not that Marinette needed to know that; she was at the train station. Her train wasn’t for another hour, but staying at her parents’ house would have meant questions she couldn’t answer. She was still in a sort of numb state, unable to comprehend how someone could go from being so happy to having everything taken from them.

Adrien had broken things off, for real this time. With no real explanation, he’d come in to her sewing room and told her, point blank, that everything was over. The changes to the play meant she wasn’t needed anymore, and she should just cede her role and costumes to Chloe gracefully, rather than embarrass herself. Marinette hadn’t believed him, had waited for his cold mask to crack, but he firmly told her goodbye, and said he’d appreciate if she didn’t take too long leaving, so the new costume team could have the space.

She’d fled to Tikki, confusion turning to tears as she realized how much was being taken from her, and how the man she had thought loved her was helping it happen. Tikki had long been offering to connect Marinette to a friend she had in Milan, and with her typical caring efficiency had organized everything in less than a day.

Since Tikki had to help sort out the last-minute costumes, she planned to meet Marinette in Milan in a few days. So Marinette was confused to hear her name being called across the train station. 

            “Mari!” Alya ran up to her, grabbing Marinette’s shoulders as she caught her breath. “Thank god I found you. Tikki sent me.”

            Marinette just stared, unsure if she was waiting for news, or a scolding for leaving Alya with only a note explaining that she would be gone for awhile.

            “You have to come back to the Moulin Rouge,” Alya said, grabbing Marinette’s hands to tow her along. Marinette dug in her heels.

            “In case you missed the meeting two days ago, no, I don’t,” she said sourly.

            “No, not to work,” Alya said impatiently. “Tikki said you have to see the show. She said it’s important.”

            “Why would I want to see the show?” Unwelcome tears filled her eyes. “Why would I want to see the mess they’ve made of our beautiful show? Why would I want to see Adrien ever again?”

            “Tikki told me something had happened,” Alya said, with a stern look that promised future reprimands for not telling her best friend about her budding romance. “She also said you wouldn’t believe a message, and need to see with your own eyes.”

            “Alya, I can’t go back there,” Marinette pleaded.

            “Oh, Tikki also said she called the gendarmes to let them know that a woman of your description had a bomb in her luggage, so you can’t stay here.”

            “She what?” Marinette squeaked, suddenly aware of the police officers, scanning the station.

            “Time to go!” Alya said cheerfully, and dragged a now unprotesting Marinette out to a waiting carriage. Marinette spent the whole ride panicking about being arrested, and about leaving behind her (bomb-free) steamer trunk that contained most of her belongings. It wasn’t until they arrived that Alya put her mind at ease.

            “I hired a porter to bring your trunk back to your parents’ house once we left,” she said. “And the gendarmes aren’t looking for you, I just had to get you moving.”

            This was evidently Alya’s plan to get Marinette into the Moulin Rouge, as she immediately darted into the building and Marinette angrily gave chase without thinking about where she was going. Before she could catch Alya, though, someone pulled her sideways through a door.

            “I’m so glad you made it,” Tikki said calmly, as if Marinette wasn’t half ready to start physically fighting everyone between her and the door. “Like I said, you need to see the show with your own eyes.”

            “Tikki, how could you do this to me?” Marinette asked, tears finally spilling over at this betrayal from her trusted friend and mentor.

            “You know I was working on the costumes,” Tikki said, still unperturbed. “Adrien asked me to change his last one, and to see if I could get you to the show. It seems he’s had a change of heart.

            “Forgive me if I don’t care about his change of heart after he broke mine,” Marinette spat, but she knew as she said it that she would watch the show.

            “Put on your ballgown, love,” Tikki advised. “Your understudy is wearing the rest, but needed a new costume for the last scene. I have a feeling you may end up on stage.”

            Marinette couldn’t imagine why she’d go onstage at this point, unless she could finally carry out her threat of choking someone with the excessive ribbons that were on the new costumes. Though she wasn’t sure which actor she’d go for.

            “Wait,” she protested, already somehow halfway into the gown. Tikki had a special kind of backstage magic. “How is my understudy in my costumes? Chloe and I aren’t the same size.”

            “The duchess decided she’d actually rather only do the final scene,” Tikki explained demurely. “Evidently learning to act was not as easy as she had expected.”

            “So she’s making someone else do all the work and getting all the applause,” Marinette grumbled. “Typical.”

            Tikki worked more of her backstage magic to get a now fully-costumed Marinette hidden in the prop staircase and doors that would be used for the princess’s entrance in the grand finale. From there she could see the stage surprisingly well, and Adrien’s costume made her shudder. He was dancing with her understudy, a brunette with Marinette’s build, but they clearly hadn’t performed together enough for it to be as seamless as his performances with Ladybug.

Marinette hadn’t missed much of the show; only the introductory scenes where the prince and princess decide to attend the festival in disguise. She had arrived during their first dance, meaning she had to sit through watching Adrien pretend to fall in love with her double – it was sickening, how he looked at the actress the exact same way he looked at the Duchess – and his hideous costumes weren’t showing her anything except Chloe’s lack of taste.

She waited, fuming, in the prop, until the final scene. She knew the ball was the last costume, and Adrien came out in yet another costume Chloe had clearly altered. Footsteps behind her made her duck away from the doors, just in time for the Duchess herself to appear. Fortunately the now-opened door hid Marinette from sight, so she had a perfect vantage point from which to watch Chloe glide down the stairs into Adrien’s waiting arms. Apparently no one had thought to give the stunt double turned leading lady a blonde wig, so the audience had to be aware that the woman being presented as the prince’s arranged bride was a different woman. This gave Marinette an idea, which her anger propelled her to implement without thinking too long.

“How dare you!” she shouted, emerging from behind the door and starting down the stairs to the stage. Adrien and Chloe stopped mid-dance to gape at her, and Marinette vaguely heard someone who sounded like Tikki yell from offstage “the masked princess!” in response to the confused noises from the audience.

“How dare you talk about love,” Marinette continued, stalking towards Adrien and leveling a dangerous finger at his nose. “You make promises and say every pretty thing and in the end none of it means anything, because all you care about is politics!”

“Listen here you peasant,” Chloe started, but Marinette didn’t let her go any farther.

“You won!” she snapped. “I thought love might triumph but in the end it was the spoiled little rich girl who used her daddy’s money and got what she wanted, like always. And you know what? You can have him. I don’t want someone who wears so many masks that his true colors never show through.”

Despite the tears coursing down her face, Marinette’s voice didn’t shake, and she held her head high as she swept off the stage.

“I, for one, am glad to see her go,” the Duchess sneered, and Marinette was surprised not to hear Adrien agree with her.

“My true colors get hidden a lot,” he said, and she suddenly realized how strained his voice sounded, like he couldn’t draw a full breath. Come to think of it, he’d seemed to be having trouble breathing for the whole show, though the strain was more noticeable because this costume had been sewn a bit too tight. Or, she realized as he shed the yellow overcoat, because he had been wearing another costume underneath it.

“Even when they’re hidden, they always stay the same,” he said softly, unfurling the fabric of the red and black coat Marinette had so painstakingly made him.

“You’re wearing my colors,” she whispered, taking a cautious step forwards.

“On my body and in my heart,” he replied a bit too loudly, reminding her that they were on stage, in front of an audience who thought this was all part of the scripted show.

“You really do love me,” she projected, and the audience awwed.

“I never stopped,” he avowed, pulling her back to center stage.

“I will not allow this!” Chloe shrilled, but her casual bullying of the cast and crew came back to haunt her as the backup dancers grabbed the superfluity of ribbons hanging from her ballgown and did a beautiful impromptu welcoming spring dance, with the Duchess as the unwilling maypole. Adrien, meanwhile, had pulled Marinette into their final dance, the orchestra playing along as though this was all planned.

“Adrien,” she breathed, effortlessly sliding into the end pose, the one that showed off how their costumes complimented each other. The crowd was roaring their approval, but Marinette was too deliriously happy to think about anything but the man in her arms.

“Marinette,” he gasped back, pulling them both back into a standing position. He looked unhealthily pale under the stage lights, and he dropped to one knee, still clutching Marinette’s hands like a lifeline.

“Adrien, love, are you alright?” Marinette was vaguely aware of the curtain closing and the rest of the cast running onstage to take their bows. Adrien pressed his forehead against their joined hands, breathing still labored.

“I’ve always been surrounded by beautiful things,” he told her. “But it wasn’t until I met you that I realized, the most beautiful things are the ones with life in them. Spirit. Passion. Love.”

            The curtain opened, and she pulled him to his feet to take his bows with the rest of the cast. Instead of his usual impeccable posture, he leaned heavily on her.

            “My beautiful Ladybug,” he whispered, and Marinette began to realize how unfocused his eyes were.

            “Chaton, you need a doctor,” she said, trying to direct him offstage. Her bakery muscles were no match for the surprise onslaught of him collapsing into her, bringing them both to the floor with him cradled in her lap.

            “You’ll make everything beautiful, Ladybug,” he told her, one hand weakly tracing her face. “That’s what you do. I’m so…lucky…to have found you.”

* * *

 

            The following weeks were something of a blur. Marinette started numb, disbelieving how quickly things could go from terrible to brilliant to terrible. Then she got angry, lashing out at her closest friends, unable to see their grief through her own. She retreated to her parents’ bakery, unable to stand the thought of being in the Moulin Rouge and knowing Adrien wasn’t also somewhere within the halls. Her sewing remained untouched, sketchbooks shoved unceremoniously under her bed where she wouldn’t have to look at them. Realizing her temper was too uncertain to allow her near customers, her parents left her to work through her emotions in the kitchen, frustrated at their inability to help their only daughter.

            It wasn’t until almost two months later that help came, and from a very unexpected source.

            “We have a somewhat unusual order,” Marinette’s mother said, poking her head into the kitchen. “I think perhaps you should come speak to the customer.”

            Marinette dutifully trudged to the front, uncaring of her messy hair and flour-streaked apron. The customer, it turned out, was Adrien’s mysterious friend Plagg.

            “I need a cheese tartlette,” he told her. “Camembert, as big as you can make it.”

            “Will that be all?” Marinette asked dully. So far it didn’t sound like the trouble her mother seemed to have thought.

            “One more thing,” Plagg said, leaning close. Marinette stared, waiting for him to continue. “Make it beautiful.”

* * *

 

            The words, so reminiscent of Adrien’s last, struck Marinette hard. She was angry at first, that Plagg dared to shatter her vague self-imposed creative block. Sketching out ideas for the tartlette, though, Marinette couldn’t help but remember why she so loved to design. There would always be tragedy, but it was the beautiful things that got people through. The greatest beauty came from passionate creators, Adrien had said. For him, she would make everything beautiful.

**Author's Note:**

> I definitely thought about letting Chat live (the story notes at one point say "he falls to his knee for dramatic effect def not cause he's dying") but ultimately decided that would be a disservice to the source material, which is one of my favorite movies of all time. So if it feels like his illness isn't really hinted at, that's because it isn't because I'm in denial.
> 
> Other than that, I hope the intended recipient of this story (and I guess the other readers) enjoyed it. Happy 29th birthday><; Liebe liebe!


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